


bullets through rotten fruit

by rillrill



Category: Veep
Genre: BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Flogging, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected run-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bullets through rotten fruit

The week feels interminable without their usual Thursday night date.

Friday seems to take longer than usual to arrive, and Dan is itching and antsy by the time five o’clock rolls around. The decision to switch their regular day at the club had been a spur-of-the-moment one after a disagreement with another regular became more of a feud, thanks to Jonah's inability to resist a metaphorical dick-measuring contest or keep his fucking gob shut. Whatever. It's not worth dwelling on now. So Thursdays are out, and Fridays are in – which makes the week feel longer, and Dan admittedly misses the novelty of coming in to work on a Friday morning nursing new bruises or with new marks to covertly ensure remain covered. But whatever. He’ll adapt. Not the end of the world.

The day feels endless, though, and Jonah makes it worse, sending him obnoxious, suggestive little texts throughout the afternoon. Dan gets through it, buries himself in a pile of shit busywork and thanks the lord there’s no fucking scandal to navigate. By five, though, he’s exhausted his store of patience, and manages to throw his laptop bag over his shoulder and duck out a side door before anyone can give him shit for technically leaving early. 

So it’s after eight by the time he and Jonah get to the club, and by then it’s already starting to fill up. Dan’s always preferred weeknights – play early, be the center of attention for a bit, spend the rest of the night coming down. They’re lucky to have found the place that they did: Black Diamond is almost obnoxiously exclusive, the dues are exorbitant, and it was nigh-impossible to obtain a membership in the first place, but it’s a sleek D.C. insider joint with a clientele skewed toward the far end of the Kinsey scale, where discretion is ensured but the networking is great, and thus Dan can’t complain. He grabs a club soda, circulates a little. Watches, mostly; can feel other people watching him. That’s the other thing about this club he’s always liked – it’s not so cheesy, for lack of a better term, as the other BDSM spaces in this city. If he's going to allow Jonah to tie him up and play with him in public, it's going to be somewhere that doesn't blare bland industrial metal or enforce an unappealing dress code. So he’s in black jeans and a grey button-down, Jonah looking rough-edged but civilized in black with his hair slicked back, and they stick out no more than they would at a sports bar as they hang around waiting for the space they like to open up.

“Hey,” Jonah says, thwhacking him softly on the shoulder, voice hushed low with excitement. “Look who it  _is_.”

Dan turns his head, slow and casual, and sucks in a breath as he does. He feels like he’s fucking hallucinating, but he couldn’t be – because Jonah sees it too –

Kent is standing near the other end of the room, in a dress shirt cuffed at the elbow and fitted trousers; he’s conversing with a younger man in a way that looks vaguely dismissive. 

“Shit,” Dan murmurs. “Fuck. We should go before he sees us.”

“Are you kidding?” Jonah’s face breaks open into a look of abject glee. “This is  _incredible_. C’mon, I’m gonna go say hey –”

“The fuck you are,” Dan hisses. Like he needs this coloring his future run-ins with Kent at work. “We’re not going to –”

“Stop making a scene,” Jonah says loudly, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“ _You’re_  the one making a scene, asshole.”

“Oh, shit–” Jonah punches him on the shoulder again; Kent is making his way over to them, looking as discerningly perplexed as Dan feels. He swallows, tries to work up an excuse, but finds himself coming up short.  _Just here as a guest_ is too much of a stretch; the staff can account for their membership of almost a year now – but –

“Gentlemen.” Kent approaches with a wryly raised eyebrow. “Daniel. Jonah.” He pauses, expectant, clearly waiting for the excuse, but Dan’s mouth is dry, and Jonah’s just smirking.

“TGIF, right?” asks Jonah, a little bit of swagger to his stance as he loops an arm around Dan’s waist, and Dan sighs and grits his teeth as he lets himself be pulled in tighter. “We didn’t know you were, uh –” He waves a broad hand through the air, and Dan sees Kent shift a little, feathers ruffled but not quite bent.

“Yes,” Kent says slowly. “I’ve always found this club to be a reliably discreet social outlet. You two are new here, then?”

“About a year now,” Dan breaks in. “We don’t usually come on Fridays. It’s kind of a whole thing.”

“Ah.” The pause that follows is achingly uncomfortable, and Dan’s working up an excuse to end the conversation before Kent follows, “I must admit I’m surprised.”

“I know, man,” Jonah answers, squeezing Dan’s waist a little more tightly. “I’m still as shocked as you are. This piece of ass is all mine.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be gross. Don’t make me regret this more than I do every day already.”

“ _Don’t be gross_ ,” Jonah mocks him with a laugh. He reaches up, gives Dan’s hair a soft tug, and Dan feels his resolve crumble to bits as Jonah grins proudly at Kent. “What do you think, huh? Wanna take him for a test drive? Try out the old power steering?”

Kent regards them both for a cool second before shaking his head. “Tantalizing as the offer is, I’m afraid I must decline.”

“What? No way.” Jonah’s shoulders drop a full inch. “Not into dudes, or…?”

“No, the issue lies elsewhere.” Kent’s eyes sweep up and down Dan’s body; Dan feels the weight of his gaze scrape over his skin like blunt fingernails. It’s probing, heavy with intent, not unpleasant. “I wouldn’t want to create, ah, a professional conflict of interest. Given that you –” he nods to Dan “–remain my subordinate professionally, I feel it best that we not engage in sustained contact tonight.”

“Gotcha.” Jonah clicks his tongue. 

“That said…” Kent trails off, sips his drink. Gestures coolly with the glass. “I wouldn’t turn down a demonstration, if the mood strikes. I must admit, my curiosity has been piqued.”

Dan bites down on the inside of his cheek. The reservations occur to him in rapid sequence:  _It’s a bad idea, he’s technically your boss, this is Kent we’re talking about_. He’d almost rather be double-teamed by Mike and Ben in the briefing room than allow Kent to see him bent at Jonah’s will. But then again – the excitement spikes as he runs out of new worries. He feels his pulse rattle a little when he thinks of how long he’s wanted Kent’s undivided attention, how much he craved his approval at first.

“We were just gonna do some impact shit,” Jonah says quietly. “Nothing too intense. I’m breaking in a new flogger.”

“Ah.” Kent nods. “You lead the way, then. If you like.”

Dan’s eyes meet Jonah’s, furrowed with understanding.  _There are so many reasons to say no – but why not fucking live a little –_

“Yeah,” Dan finally forces out. “Try something new, right?”

There’s a cross open near the edge of the room, right in front of a couch that is, miraculously, newly empty. Kent settles into the middle of it, lets his legs fall wide open but does little else to indicate his interest. Dan drops their bags, swallows. “Strip,” Jonah hisses roughly in his ear, and Dan does. He’s hyperaware of Kent’s eyes on him now, flexes his core and throws his shoulders back as he undresses, leaving his clothes in an untidy pile atop the bags. Jonah cuffs him roughly, running his fingers over the leather of the cuffs and smirking a little. 

“I’ll warm you up a little first,” Jonah says. “Hands?”

“Whatever you want,” Dan says, and then hisses as Jonah gets a handful of his hair, tugging again. Tugging hard. It’s a shock down to the root, tilting his head back, exposing his throat like an offering, and he can tell Jonah’s starting to show off – perform a little for the new audience. Fucking peacock. 

Jonah hooks the cuffs to the top of the cross, arranging Dan with his back to Kent and the couch. It’s not uncomfortable, but Dan spreads his legs a little wider anyway, steadying himself. One of Jonah’s wide hands traces down his back, fingers dancing in light spirals. This normally works to relax him, ease out the tension and heighten the sensation to come, but it feels – different. He’s tempted to twist his head around, tell him to get on with it, but then Jonah smacks his ass six times in quick succession, sharp and punishing, and there’s nothing  _warm you up_  about it. 

“Stick it out, sweetheart,” Jonah says, voice low and cocky. “Make sure Kent gets a good show.”

Dan grits his teeth but nods, arches his back as best he can. He feels the disturbance in the air as Jonah steps away, hears him digging through their bag, and he closes his eyes bracingly. 

“Thirty to start,” Jonah says. “You gonna be good? You gonna count?”

“Mm.” Dan nods, ducks his chin. Behind him, Kent remains tellingly silent.

It’s the flogger, the new one. The one Jonah mentioned breaking in. He can tell from the first blow, and he grits his teeth but obediently answers, “One.” And then it’s easy. The solid thud, the sharp sting, and the rush, a quick one-two-three punch. He feels himself start to drift, flexes his fingers against each other as he sinks into it, lets the tide carry him away –

“Twenty-two.” He’s running on autopilot. Hisses as Jonah lands a solid stroke over the meat of his upper back. “Twenty-three.”

The next blow comes with unprecedented force behind it. He grits his teeth before he counts it. “Twenty-four.” The next three are just as hard, and he’s taking deep, centering breaths as he rounds on twenty-eight and twenty-nine. And as soon as he hits thirty, he hears Kent clear his throat, a dry little noise, and Jonah steps away, swinging the flogger back and forth in his hand widely enough that he brushes Dan’s thigh with the tips.

“He reddens beautifully,” Kent says, his voice placid and removed. “Out of curiosity, has he ever taken a cane before?”

“Not yet,” Jonah says. He runs his hand down Dan’s ass, rubbing over his tender upper thighs. “Virgin territory in that regard. We’re trying to work up to it. He’s a fucking baby about anything that stings.”

Dan lets his eyes drift shut. His shoulders are starting to ache from the angle, but it’s nothing he won’t enjoy tomorrow. He hears Kent take a couple steps toward him, and then, “You can certainly acclimate with a flogger, if you like. I could demonstrate a trick, here, that might ease the way.”

“Shit, yeah.” Jonah hesitates, and then he slides a hand through Dan’s hair, tugging again; it goes straight to his nerves and he opens his eyes. “What do you think, Danny? Want Kent to, ah,  _demonstrate_?”

“God, yes.” He’s embarrassed by how ragged the breath he releases comes out. “ _Please_.”

Jonah chuckles as he releases his hair, and Dan chances a glance over his shoulder. Watches as he hands the flogger off to Kent, who takes it solidly in hand, flips it around a little, getting his bearings. Finding the balance. “You’ll want to face forward,” he says coolly to Dan. “You may strain your neck.”

“Yes, sir.” He swallows, hastily turns his head back around. He hears Jonah and Kent conversing in low tones, can’t quite make out the words – there’s an instructional quality to it. And then there’s another crack, and this blow  _hurts_ , a deep stroke right over his right thigh. It’s a sharper sting, somehow more focused and direct than Jonah’s normal blows – laser-crisp and white-hot. Like Kent’s focus. He shouldn’t be surprised, he thinks, as he feels himself starting to slip further under.

“Keep counting,” Jonah instructs, and Dan swallows. 

“Thirty-one.”

And then they’re coming faster, and he’s struggling to focus past the pain, tears in his eyes. 

 

It’s not until later that he really comes back to earth, curled against Jonah on a couch. Kent is nowhere to be seen, but Jonah seems fine with that – Dan realizes with mild embarrassment that he’s clinging onto Jonah’s upper arm, one hand folded possessively around his bicep. Jonah kisses his temple lazily, squeezes down on his knee. 

“If you want to watch,” he says, low and quiet in Dan’s ear, “Kent said he and Sue are going to top someone later.”

“Sue’s here? Shit.” Dan swallows, gestures for the water bottle in Jonah’s hand and takes a hurried gulp. “She didn’t – watch –”

“Relax,” Jonah says, shaking his head. “She showed up near the end, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“My mind was occupied,” Dan bristles. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess. Yeah. Maybe we can watch.”

Jonah grins, chuckles a little. “Shit. I wish you could’ve seen your face, when Kent just fuckin’ – laid into you like that. We have to play with him. Like, formally. He could  _tear you apart_ , babe.”

The thing is, he doesn’t hate the idea. 

“Yeah,” Dan says shakily. “I could be into that.”

* * *

The weekend is more or less the same as always. They fall into bed on Friday night, Dan sleeping on his stomach to spare the raw skin on his back and thighs, and he wakes up early, antsy and discontent, the adrenaline high of the night previous having long work off. It’s with a vague sort of horror that he thinks, clearly, for the first time in the light of day, about what they did last night.

He cringes, pushing his face into the pillow even though Jonah’s not even awake to talk about it or look him in the eye. The reality sets in like a sinking stone, pulling him down with it.  _Shitshitshit_. No matter how he slices it, that was likely a mistake.

Although – who can be sure? Jonah shifts beside him, stretching out on his back, yawning and nuzzling into the hollow of Dan’s neck and shoulder. Dan, still sprawled on his front, feels his dick start to stir, showing interest. They hadn’t actually fucked last night, were both too worn out when they got home – he’s got some pent-up energy to release. So he shifts in tandem, letting Jonah pull him on top of him. Grinds down against one of his solid, gangly thighs, the boxers he’s got on  rubbing against the sore spots on his upper thighs. Even half-asleep, Jonah seems to know on instinct what Dan likes: he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat, pinches and plays with his nipples through his loose Cornell t-shirt before he rucks it up and over his head altogether. Dan rocks down on Jonah’s thigh, finds the perfect angle where their cocks rut together, hard in their boxers. He presses his hand against Jonah’s erection, feels it jump in his palm and smiles with self-satisfaction. 

He doesn’t have to tell Jonah that he’s close. Jonah starts in with the sleepy, slurred murmuring close to his ear right on cue as he gets the heel of his hand against Dan’s cock and holds it steady, a solid force to grind down against. “There you go, sweetheart, you almost there?” he mutters, not quite conscious enough to be disgusting. “Tell me how much you like that, you slutty baby. You pretty, filthy –”

“Shit,” Dan mutters through gritted teeth. “Yeah. Keep your hand right there –”

“You liked that I made you wait for it, huh?” There’s a self-satisfied smirk to his voice and Dan gasps a little as Jonah pushes harder up against him, yanking his underwear down far enough to get his cock out. Jonah cups his balls gently, runs his thumb down his cock, the kind of expert hand-stuff Dan always joked that he’d be good at – infuriating, honestly how good he actually is; how quickly he can take Dan apart with only his hands now. His cock is throbbing, the sensation is intensely not enough. “Took you out and showed you off but didn’t let you come until just now.”

Dan doesn’t argue the actual facts of the situation, not when he’s this close. “Jesus,” he groans, presses his face against Jonah’s chest, mouth to collarbone. 

“Tell me I can do whatever I want to you,” Jonah taunts, low and raunchy and finally waking up, apparently. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You do what you want,” Dan repeats, his voice breaking with desperation. “I’m yours, I’m all yours, fucker, just –”

“Tell me I’m better than Kent,” Jonah growls, and Dan feels something inside him jump, then freeze. But it’s too late, he’s too close, and he finds himself muffling the noise he wants to make into Jonah’s bare clavicle, biting down gently but messily, all teeth and saliva and hot breath and tongue against his pasty skin. He licks over the spot he’s bitten as he ruts against Jonah’s hand, feels Jonah working him through it, spilling into his palm as he rides it out with a low, wordless hiss.

He falls back down to the bedspread again, watches as Jonah – sleepily, lazily – lifts his sticky hand to his mouth and swipes his tongue through the mess. “You’re so gross,” he mutters wanly, but it’s like yanking a lawnmower chain connected to his caveman brain; his mouth waters as he watches. Jonah’s disgusting, yes, but he’s hot as hell, licking it all off his own palm with broad, flat strokes. Dan swallows, squints his eyes closed, and drags himself down the bed to slide Jonah’s boxers over and off his hips.

One hand – the clean one, he hopes – lands in his hair as he closes his eyes and dips his head. Jonah’s hard already, his big stupid cock resting heavily against his stomach, and Dan traces a line from root to tip with his tongue, licks a delicate little pattern around the head. “Shit, baby girl,” he hears, and stifles a little groan of his own as he takes the head between his lips. He hates that name –  _hates_  it – or at least that’s the guise he keeps up, so as to make sure Jonah keeps using it –

“You look so pretty, drooling all over me,” Jonah adds, tightening the hand in his hair. “Go ahead, baby girl. Show me how much you like that good dick, yeah? Show me what a good slut you can be for my cock.  _Choke on it_.” It’s disgusting –  _Jonah learned English from porn_ , he dimly remembers someone saying once – everything he learned about being a man came from a faded, crackly VHS tape of Animal House in a porno theater somewhere – but it does the fucking trick, turns him on even though there’s no way he’ll be ready to go again for a couple hours –

He does choke, a little, just there. Pulls off for air, replaces his mouth with his hand for a couple strokes and then keeps moving further his fingers down as he takes him back into his mouth. This is Dan’s sweet spot, this multitasking shit – his hand is already slick with spit; he wets his index finger again, too fucking in-the-zone to reach for the lube. Teases over Jonah’s entrance with his fingertip, opens his throat and sinks down as far as he can on his cock –

“Shit, yeah, okay.” Jonah’s panting a little as Dan works his finger into him. The head of his cock hits the back of his throat; his eyes water. He pushes past it. Nothing but the air in his lungs and the tightening nerves behind his eyeballs – and Jonah’s hinging on incoherence now, letting Dan work  _him_ over, oddly at his mercy, hands fisted in the bedsheets. His hips thrust up off the mattress, and Dan parries expertly, doesn’t choke this time, just swallows around him, fucking into him, and that’s it –

Jonah comes without warning, and Dan swallows as much of it as can as he pulls off, the remainder landing on his lips and chin. He’s barely gotten his bearings before Jonah’s pulling him back up to the pillows, kissing his face sloppily, and he relaxes into the grimy mess of it. It feels earned, somehow. The sore spots on his back still feel tender, maybe moreso as he comes down fully from his orgasm, and he settles down, tucked against the side of Jonah’s chest, skin on sticky skin. 

“So,” he mumbles against Jonah’s shoulder. “The elephant in the room.”

“Don’t talk about my dick that way,” Jonah mumbles sleepily, and Dan aims a soft slap at his thigh but gets his hip on a misfire instead.

“We should talk about what happened last night,” Dan says with tension in his jaw. “Not that I want to, I mean, but – if it’s gonna color what happens when I go in to work on Monday. We should.”

He hears Jonah yawn as he closes his eyes. “Okay, yeah. What’s there to talk about? We had a moment. Kent didn’t even really touch you too much. So?”

“So it’s  _Kent_.” Dan huffs. “Don’t be fucking obtuse, you know what the problem is.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t get carried away freaking out yet.” Jonah’s voice is plaintive, much too calm for the circumstances, but it does have a weighted effect on Dan, who feels the calm settle over him the more he listens. “If shit gets weird, I mean, he was at the club too. So was Sue. I thought that’s why we fought so hard to get into that one, because everyone there is pretty much in politics. There’s no blackmail, just mutually assured destruction.”

Dan sighs a little. “Okay, second question. Were you serious about playing with him again sometime? Because that was –”

“Yeah, I was.”

“– a really good suggestion,” he finishes. “I don’t know. I’d be into that, provided I know it won’t ruin my entire fucking life.”

“Aw,” Jonah says, kind of smug and condescending. “Dan, don’t worry. If anyone’s gonna ruin your life, it’s gonna be you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Or me. Kent’s, like, a distant sixth or seventh.”

“Fuck _you_ , Tormund Giantsbanal.” He tries to hide the annoyed smirk growing on his lips by pressing his face against Jonah’s chest again. “But yeah. I’d be up for that, if it were hypothetically on the table.”

Jonah pulls him a little closer. “Kind of sweet not having to go into the office the day after, too. I kind of like this.”

“Mm.” Dan shuts his eyes. “Coffee, maybe, should be on the table too, at some point.”


End file.
